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At least one post per day. OOC can go in the OOC thread, or underneath IC in SlateGray.
When a fight starts, I will post a map with the baddies, and info on where you can place your tokens. There will also be monster info and defenses, unless it adds to the drama to leave it out.
Battles will be in initiative chunks; that is, if there are a group of players that go before the next enemy does, they can go in any order before the baddie.
Battle posts MUST HAVE: where you're moving to and from in grid coordinates, your attack and who you're targeting in Red, dice roll(obviously), a list of any lasting effects(for you, allies or enemies)in Orange, and then who is next after you in Green.
A lot of you guys have interrupt effects; due to the nature of PbP, it would be pretty difficult to actually implement the "interrupt" portion. Therefore, unless I can find a better solution, interrupts will just become reactions, taking place on the initator's next turn.
There will probably be a lot more here, so check back frequently.

The Party: Zurin, a taciturn dwarf warden made in the heat of battle that's probably just a big ol' cuddly teddy bear (played by Jack Hobbes) (sheet)

Arumat Patronis, a dragonborn sorcerer seeking to prove to his family that a big fire god is not going to burn the world to death (played by Pinfeldorf) (sheet)

Henry Teach(played by Woogity), a rogue looking to free the only person ever to be nice to him: a pirate captain. (sheet)

Former Party Members:Moridan of Avandra, who unceremoniously fell down a well after he dropped his lucky coin down it.

The Setting So Far:
Spring, the perennial season of hope. As the frigid cold begins to take its leave, people begin to stir around the continent of Lucaran, in more ways than one. The winter takes with it the last vestiges of the inertia left by the Order of Tessad, the brutal regime that many children have been told horror stories of. Although it has been a hundred years since any have seen their terrifying banner of cardinal and gold, it is only now that many begin to show signs of life. Artists return to their easels, smiths to their foundries. The shanty fever begins to grow, and the number of wanderers across the countryside has increased tenfold.

And many of them head to the ville of Meresten. Located in the near geographic center of Lucaran, some see it as a symbolic place of rebirth. Others see it as the nearest inn and tavern, The Dancing Red Cap. But for five adventurers, it will prove to be much more.

Although, as they approach the Red Cap and catch some of the scents emanating from the inside, an inn and tavern might not be such a bad place to start...

Assume that you all find yourselves in the inn and tavern. Not necessarily in each others company, just present. If you like write a post or two describing how you got there, and if you want to be a social butterfly or just occupy your table with your ale. There will be a pretty obvious intro to the questgiver, and when you all enter a post with !ready in OOC text, it begins.

Posts

There was a pile of rags and animal hides sitting at the bar, and the outermost layer made onlookers' eyes begin to water if their gaze lingered on it for too long. Various empty bottles and mugs littered the surrounding area. Whatever it was, no one was standing within five feat of it; presumably, the smell was too strong for anyone to stomach. This apparently included the barkeep, who stood clear on the opposite end of the bar. The pile grunted, and the bartender filled another mug with brown liquid, sliding it towards the...thing. A squat, muscled arm reached out, caught the mug, and emptied it in short order. The pile let out a belch, and then the entire form shook it let out a deep, throaty chuckle.

The pile's name was Zurin, and today was not going to be a good day.

The Raging Bear had come to Meresten because had overheard a half-orc in a previous bar swear by its ale. The man would swear twice more that evening; once when he had drunkenly swaggered up to Zurin, and once more right before Zurin had added a few inches to the man's neck. The ale was...passable. Zurin spat angrily at the floor and muttered to himself, "Shoulda seen this comin'. Piss-poor men prefer piss-poor swill."

Coming to a fork in the road outside of town, one way leading directly to the main gate the other somewhere else, Moridan flipped a coin. Chance told him to head into town, so into the town he went. Easily finding the local inn and tavern, he took up residence at an open table in the middle of the room and ordered a meal of meat and ale. A few tables over there was a game of chance and Moridan was was wondering if his Lady was with him today.

The door opens and a young man steps in, dressed in a finely tailored suit of leather armor. His cloak is embossed with the crest of the Eilenor family from Tavare, a city to the south in the wine valley. Covered with the dirt of travel, his fine clothing looses some of its flair. You can see where he has tried to keep it at least semi-presentable, though it is clear he has little skill in the matter. Hair shorn close to his head and clean shaven, Jordan of Eilenor surveys the inn. "So THIS is one of those taverns I read about..." His eyes stop briefly on the odd... thing sitting at the bar "Hmm... local color. Well, it cant be helped. When one leaves the manor you are bound to run into it."

Jordan sits down at the bar a couple seats over from the... person? Surely it must be a person.. they wouldnt let animals sit at a bar... "Barkeep! Ill have a glass of Tavaren wine, a red if you have it, and" indicating the mass of rags "one of whatever my friend here is drinking! Drink up friend, this ones on me!" Unfortunately, Jordan's attempt at masking his displeasure of associating with commoners is a poor one.

!Ready, but like everyone else, Im more than willing for some RP.

EDIT: clarified some stuff, I really should proofread a little better, heh.

Zurin turns to face the newcomer, and from the corner of his eye he notices a dwarf dressed in robes. Zurin's eyes narrow as he focuses his gaze on the holy symbol hanging from the man's neck, and he grumbles incoherently before returning his attention to the man at the bar.

No, not a man, he decides. A boy, rich by the look of him, far from home in a strange bar. A spoiled brat who decided that he'd try his hand at "adventuring".

The door creaks open yet again, admitting a gust of cool air, followed shortly thereafter by a short, pearl-white dragonkin. Arumat mumbled something beneath his breath, and shuddered from the warmth of the place as he removed his cape. His gaze darted around the room, whether looking for something specific or not unknown even to him. His eyes fall not upon what he was searching for, but his growling stomach suddenly decided there was something worth finding here.

Pulling out a chair at the nearest empty table, Arumat hailed a serving girl over to take his order. The wide-eyed lass was more than happy to accept his order of seared mutton and a large pitcher of ice water. As his food arrived, Arumat decided this was as good a place as any to turn in for the night, and felt impelled to track down the innkeep after his meal to procure the night's lodging.

Finishing his meal, Moridan sees a pile of rags at the bar glance in his direction ( Perception check to see the glance: 1d20+14=34 ) while bantering with an overly dressed young human. Something from the pit of his stomach tells him he should pay attention, that one or both of these patrons may help him in the road to come, so he puts the game of chance out of his mind, orders another ale and leans back in his chair.

The barkeep scans the room, his eyes passing from the dwarf and his game of chance, to the eyesore of a dragonkin, to the insufferable human at the bar, and the short, yet incredibly foul-smelling dwarf next to him.

His shoulders slump ever so slightly.

I think we'll just keep RP going until Mundane's wizard joins the room.

Zurin takes the bartender's apparent dejection as an answer to his question, and turns back to the boy at the bar. "See that?" he says with a slight chuckle, "Heroes drink free".

A peculiar smell then comes to Zurin's attention, to which he responds by giving two investigative sniffs. Both return with information backing up his original assumption; the boy absolutely reeked of nature spirits. Either he was regularly communing with them (unlikely, given his age and obvious inexperience), or they were moving things behind the scenes. Either way, the boy warranted further investigation.

"Say, w'as yer name, son?"

I think that a 31 Perception is more than enough to notice a bitter dwarf warden glaring at you from across the bar. That is, unless the DM says otherwise.

"Zurin", he replies heartily. "Zurin the Raging Bear. Came here because I heard the ale was to die for."

The dwarf chuckles to himself before draining another mug and letting out a hearty belch.

"Stuff's not exactly up to my standards. True drink should knock ya down after the first swing. Yer not sure what just happened, exactly, but once ya get back on yer feet, the only thing yer certain of is that ya want more. This?", he says, hefting an empty mug, "This ain't that. This is wash, and the only thing wash is good for is downing in large quantities and wishing ya were drinking something stronger."

Zurin shifts his frame towards Jordan, truly facing him for the first time. From the front, the pile of seemingly random furs and rags seems to make sense; it's armor, albeit armor culled from at least three separate animals. A shield is strapped to his back (underneath the strange cloak), and an axe of unknown make (but certainly not dwarven) hangs from an ornate belt with a large blue crystal as its buckle.

"So, what brings a spirit-talker like yerself to a nothing town like Meresten?"

A gold piece later, Moridan figured luck was not with him this endeavor so he said his good byes, wished the other players good luck in their travels and headed to the bar. Sliding in next to Zurin on the other side from Jordan, he looked down at his now empty mug and sullenly said "Barkeep, some more of your... finest"

Jordan turns to the dwarf and leans in, "That may be true for ales but a fine wine should be savored. You should taste it, let the flavors wash over your tongue. The light fruity whites, the deep earthy reds. Simply swallowing it is doing it a great disservice. You have not truly tasted a fine drink until you have the pleasure of sipping a glass of Tavaren wine. One of our... wait... spirit talker? You mean to tell me that you can sense my abilities?"

Hmm, perhaps this dwarf is more than just a splash of local color... I may have underestimated him.

"Hmm... well, my skills have surpassed that of my family's instructor, Master Evan of Telleran if you've heard of him, no? Well, no matter, he had nothing more to teach me and so I left. The road led me here, so here I came. Though the road here was not nearly as well maintained as those about the manor..."

"Don't know yer teacher, but ya smell like the world, and not the kind of world that ya coulda picked up from a few days travel on a dirt road. Spirits tend to give themselves away like that. And wine is for sissies and elves. Takes too long to take ya to where ya wanna go."

Zurin turns to face Moridan, who was sitting uncomfortably close to him at the bar.

In an isolated corner of the tavern, shrouded in shadows and silence, sits a lone robed figure with his attention buried in a large, dusty tome. Those who glimpse his face by the light of the single candle at the small table where he sits will see the pale violet skin and bright silver markings of a deva with eyes the color of smoky glass, a calm and focused expression on his face.

Slowly, almost absentmindedly, the deva lifts a hand and makes a small gesture towards a flagon sitting near the edge of his table. The flagon quickly tips upward as if to fill the glass resting beside his tome, but no liquid emerges. The deva glances at the flagon once, then stands, smooths his robes, snatches the flagon from where it floats just above the table, and moves toward the bar. As he walks, those looking on might notice the intricately-worked leather armor beneath his robes, the chestpiece of which is illustrated with an elaborate depiction of the Platinum Dragon, Bahamut.

Arumat's relentless pursuit of filling his stomach prevents him from noticing the robed figure saunter toward the bar, and pretty much everything else of import he could possibly have seen. (Perception 1d20+4=8)

I apologize in advance for not knowing much about the forum functions, but I should get the hang of it pretty quickly. Also, is this rolling format okay, or should I use IC? Seems easier for me to use Orokos since it's just two clicks.

"Nothing really, just saw you grimace at me earlier. Figured I should introduce myself before you have another," glancing at the ground "10 of these ales." backing up a few feet Moridan adds "And while I've smelt some foul things in my life, you are near the top. Well done, good dwarf. Quite impressive"

"I believe I heard you say your name was Zurin, well mine happens to be Moridan."

"Macel? Do we have any more..." Then her eyes come to the dragonborn, and the mess he is making at the table. She then quietly walks over to the barrel, pours herself a brew, and stands with it next to Macel, the bartender.

Macel quietly nods, and drinks from his flagon again.

As they comiserate in silence, the waitress suddenly looks out the window, as if noting for the first time what time of day it is. She turns to Macel. "Uh, Macel...it's past midday."

Macel is nonplussed. "So?"

"It's Sunday."

At this, Macel's practiced look of apathy and self-pity reaches new heights, bordering almost on fear. He downs the rest of his drink, and hurries for the door to the backroom. "I can't handle him today, I can't! You take over! Get me when he's gone! Oh, and the dwarf here has an understanding with me, he's on the house!"

The waitress looks at the four people seated at the bar. "Which dwarf?!", she yells to the back door.

The robed deva approaches the bar to one side of the three figures engaged in conversation there and leans in towards the waitress, seemingly oblivious to the exchange that just took place. In a soft, yet somehow compelling voice, he says, "More wine, if you please," and gently sets the flagon on the bar.

"Being the first son after too many daughters throws subtlety down the mines."

Looking at the waitress Moridan signals he's empty and would like more drink "Is everything ok with the barkeep? I thought I saw him put something in the mug he was drinking, then you came out and he just rushed into the back as if his son were about to be killed.

Pinfeldorf your food is pretty damn mesmerizing. You did hear the sound of someone rushing through the back, but whether or not that will be enough to distract you from your stomach is up to you.

The waitress looks at the dwarves. "No, he didn't put something into his drink...those were his tears. He...cries into his beer sometimes."

"The fact that it's Sunday doesn't help either. See, on Sunday, 'round this time of day, we get this customer in here, and he just drives Masel completely insane. He always goes on with his tales of wild adventure, which usually gets our patrons into a wandering mood, causing them to leave, and taking their business with them. He usually tries to be friendly with Masel about it, but that just makes it all the worse for him. It seems that his impending arrival, coupled with the amount of..."

She casts a quick glance to the dragonborn.

"...unusual patrons we've had lately have just been too much. We don't normally see much of the more exotic races 'round here."

She barely has time to finish her sentence before the doors to the Red Cap burst open, revealing a tall, well-built human, wearing tough, yet shiny leather armor, a head of gray and a grin from ear to ear.

"GOOD DAY, gentlefolk! And what a GLORIOUS day it is!"

The waitress hangs her head a little. "Like clockwork."

He strides up to the bar, barely dodging specks of mutton and gravy flying from the dragonborn's table, to head to the bar. "And how's my lovely Sennie today?"

The waitress responds with a smile so forced that is a wonder her jaw doesn't fall off from the strain. "Oh, just fine, Menco. Can't complain. And you?" His response begins with his grin getting even wider somehow. "The world has been treating me BEAUTIFULLY lately! So much good fortune, I can't HELP but be happy!"

Samael, Moridan:

Spoiler:

Your passive insight tells you that the man is genuinely happy about something, but you can't put your finger on what.

Menco turns to the four beings at the bar. "And who might YOU folk be, strangers? I have not seen the likes of a deva or a dragonborn for QUITE some time! Do you travel together?"

Arumat perks up at the mention of dragonborn. Had this fellow mentioned he had seen his kith? Surely this warranted investigation!

"Good day to you, kind sir. I am afraid I do not know these folks, but I was rather interested at your mention of seeing others of my kind. I was wondering if I might ask you some questions, if you have the time, patience and thirst for a free drink?" (Diplomacyd20+15=22)

He turns to face the dragonkin, the grin still affixed to his face. I ALWAYS have time to converse with fellow travelers! And the drinks shall be on ME! Sennie, a round for all six of us, on MY tab!"

She frowns. "About that..."

His grin turns slightly quizzical, but then returns just as strong. "AH! Time to refresh the well, is it? Of COURSE!" He then reaches into a slight pocket, throwing several shiny coins on the wooden surface.

"I'm afraid you have misunderstood my earlier statement, though, friend! You are the first dragonkin I have seen in a while, although I have heard their movements and travels are increasing. But if you have more questions, I am MORE than amenable! And the offer is extended to YOU good folk as WELL!" He gestures towards the other four patrons at the bar, who may or may not have been paying more attention to the stranger since the coins left his pocket.

I hope I haven't made the exclamation point over his head too obvious.

"No, he didn't put something into his drink...those were his tears. He...cries into his beer sometimes."

"The fact that it's Sunday doesn't help either. See, on Sunday, 'round this time of day, we get this customer in here, and he just drives Masel completely insane. He always goes on with his tales of wild adventure, which usually gets our patrons into a wandering mood, causing them to leave, and taking their business with them."

"So, he's cryin' because some loudmouth comes 'round every week and scares off his business? No offense, miss, but yer boss is a sissy."

His head sinks at the news of himself being the first dragonborn seen in a while, and Arumat makes a very visible look of disappointment. Ever the optimist, though, he sees an opportunity here.

"Menco, is it? I am Arumat, of family Patronis to the North. Just...just how long has it been since you've, ah..." he lets his voice trail off, not able to find the right words. "What I mean, is, when was it you last saw one of draconic descent?"

Menco smiles politely to Zurin, but it is evident that he is not used to such brevity in dealing with people. "People can be called what they wish, and if your ale is provided, than you may simply enjoy my COMPANY if you wish!"

Turning back to Arumat: "Hmm...must have been a few months ago, I believe. It was only in passing, however; my assignment didn't give me the time to actually CONVERSE with him, as I'm doing with you right NOW!

"My Lady has seen my through more troubles than even an accountant could count. I have no troubles with my name sake, but Avandra has been there for me when it really mattered." Moridan says to Zurin while touching the symbol of his faith hanging from his neck. "But that's a long story I'm sure you'd rather not hear."

Turning towards the newcomer at the sounds of free ale, "What luck, I never turn down the offer of drink. But what makes a man as happy as you seem to be?"

Menco turns to Moridan with that grin of his. "Truly, it is my WORK! You see, I am a facilitator. In my travels, I come across parties - individuals, townships - that need certain services or items that neither they nor I can provide. However, I am able to organize meetings between those that need these services, and those that can provide them. It is very little work, and it does pay rather handsomely."

Suddenly, his eyes light up, as if the very inspiration of Corellon himself had struck. "Say...you five, you may not have been companions before today, but I don't suppose you would mind working together for some coin, would you?"

"The idea of it is within the realm of possibility, but I'm afraid I - no, we, would need more information on the topic, if you would be so kind?"
Arumat pushes in the chair at the table he no longer plans to occupy, and walks over to the hubbub. The foul stench of dead animal permeates his nostrils, and just as the wooziness in his head begins to subside, he sees the strange ever-shifting cloak on the man he assumes is the cause of the foul odor. Before he can vomit, he reaches into his belt pouch and produces a small herb and begins to chew it.

Zurin looks around at the group, sizing them up. The dwarf looks competent enough, he thinks to himself, if a little misguided. The willowy one at the bar appears to be a caster of some sort, which means that he's either a powder-faced whiner or some sort of combat god. Probably the former, if only because he's drinking wine. The dragonborn and the boy are...enigmas. One looks like he knows his way around the business end of a blade, and the other appears to be completely green. Still, without seeing them in the field, this is all pointless conjecture.

"Well, friends, there is a place to the NORTH of here that I have taken assignments for in the past, and have grown quite fond of. The town is surrounded by a wealth of natural resources, which makes it a pretty desirable place to be, generally. It actually used to be a FORT, but now it is merely a settlement...with a military complement. This may make the town sound pretty self-sufficient, but during my last visit, the populace there seemed...a little off, and distant. Not quite their normal selves."

"I would rest easier knowing what TROUBLES these people, and would pay you a modest sum to investigate Ft. Dolor. I will, of COURSE, give you fellows some time to converse about my offer, since I know you are newly introduced to each other. I EAGERLY await your answers!"

Sizing up the group, he comes to the conclusion that the Dwarfs seem more or less ready for trouble should it happen, and a cursory glance at the Deva concludes he has a bit of the arcane to him (Arcanad20+11=17) but this young lad...is he ready for this? Time will tell.
Arumat shrugs and says, "Any place is as good as another, and it looks as if this is as good as group to adventure with as any."
He says to himself in Draconic, "Fate favors the bold."

Samael watches the conversation in silence, his hand resting on his refilled flagon, looking not quite disinterested in the proceedings unfolding before him.

Now, though, at the mention of the fort, he suddenly interjects into the conversation.

"Surely there must be more you're not telling us. What is it precisely that is troubling you about these townfolk?"

Samael makes a cursory glance at the ragtag group gathered near the bar, taking note of each of them, his gaze lingering perhaps a moment longer on the Dragonkin. He then looks back to Menco, resuming his eerie stillness, one hand still resting on his flagon.